


Never Go

by katybaggins



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Minor Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Post-Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, Rosie Watson Appreciation, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock s4 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:13:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katybaggins/pseuds/katybaggins
Summary: After John's surprising death, Sherlock Holmes has one request for Molly - Will she help him and Mrs. Hudson raise little Rosie in Sussex? Of course she says yes. But as the years pass, the question begins to arise: Will she stay or will she go?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This little story was based on the "Appointment in Sussex" theory by strawberrypatty on tumblr. I hope you enjoy. Be forewarned about the premise of the story.

Molly Hooper considered herself a patient person, but that didn’t mean she liked to wait. Yet after John’s surprising death, that’s just what she did. Shortly after the they received the shocking news about John, Molly and Mrs. Hudson decided to take an afternoon to decide what should be done for Rosie. After all, they were little Rosie’s godmothers. Surely they should take care of her in some way. But it only took them about five minutes to agree that they would wait to see what Sherlock would do: He was the godfather, a planner, and a best friend to both John and Mary. The likelihood was that he might have been named as Rosie’s legal guardian in their will. Molly trusted that he would know what to do and they would respect his decision. In the meantime, they would wait. 

To Molly, the next few days felt like living in suspended animation - she went to work, took care of Rosie. But in many senses, she walked around in a dazed stupor. She did see Sherlock, of course, when she helped with Rosie, but he barely said a word except a few pleasantries here and there. She didn’t even know why they bothered - there was nothing _pleasant_ to exchange. They shouldn’t pretend that they weren’t drowning in a sea of grief. At least she _saw_ him though, even if it was brief, which meant that he was surviving. He hadn’t killed himself or overdosed, which had been her primary concerns. She knew all too well how self-destructive he could be. He never mentioned Rosie’s future though, and she and Mrs. Hudson both knew better than to push him. He would tell them when he was ready. She just hoped he would make up his mind sooner rather than later.

Five days after John’s funeral, she heard a knock on the door of her flat and she knew exactly who it was. As she thought, she found Sherlock standing at her door, his expression completely blank. “Molly, I assume you know why I’m here.”

She nodded. “Yes.” He followed her inside and they both sat on her couch. Instead of making any sort of small talk, she waited patiently for him to tell her what the plan was. 

After about three minutes (or exactly three minutes. She had to confess that she did glance at her clock), he spoke. “Now that John’s…..” He stopped and closed his eyes. “Now that John’s….” He broke off again with a slight shake of his head. 

He couldn’t say it, but she didn’t need him to. “I know,” she said gently. “We need to find a place for Rosie.” 

 “Exactly,” he said brusquely. “I will leave London. I’ve found a house in Sussex, where I will raise Rosie. Mrs. Hudson will come with me.”  He relayed all of it in a a monotone, like it had been something simple instead of a week’s worth of thought. 

She blinked. in all her possible scenarios, she’d _never_ expected him to say that. Leave London and the work he loved so much? She couldn’t imagine a more selfless act that that. “Sherlock, I-….” 

He stared at her then, and it was as if his mask had finally disappeared: she saw his guilt, sorrow, loneliness. But most of all she saw that vulnerable expression that she’d only seen once: the night before his “suicide.” And she knew exactly what he was going to say. “Molly, we would like-….” He stared down at her carpet and bit his lip. “ _I_ would like it if you came with us. Please.” 

She smiled, even as hot tears pooled in her eyes. “Sherlock, do you remember what I said that day in the morgue?”

“If there’s anything I need, I could have you,” he said softly.

“Yes, and it still stands,” she said. “Of course I will come.”

His whole countenance visibly relaxed, and that alone assured her that she had made the right choice. “Thank you, Molly Hooper.” With that settled, he told her the rest of the details and even agreed that she could bring her cat. All in all, he didn’t stay much more than hour. 

But right before he walked out the door he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, which spoke the volumes of his gratitude more than words ever could. 

* * *

The next few weeks passed in blur of packing and saying goodbyes. She put in her resignation at Barts, and Mike, proving once again what a good boss he was, completely understood. He even told her that if she continued any kind of research from Sussex, he would find a way to publish it. She promised to definitely do her best, especially since she didn’t have the foggiest what kind of financial situation the three (or four rather) would face. 

By the time Molly arrived in Sussex, Sherlock, Rosie, and Mrs. Hudson had already been there for at least a few days. She fell in love with the little yellow cottage, sitting right by the sea, as soon as she saw it. Mrs. Hudson greeted her when she arrived and showed her around the house, including her own room where she could see a beautiful view of the shoreline. “Sherlock picked it especially for you,” Mrs. Hudson told her. “And he put your piano in what he calls the ‘music room.’”

Her piano was the only piece of furniture that she’d insisted on bringing with her. He hadn’t seemed to mind her request at all, only said something brief about possibly “playing together.” But she hadn’t seen him at all yet, and she assumed that he had shut himself in what was his new study. “How is he?” she couldn’t help asking. 

“Quiet,” Mrs. Hudson said. “ _Very_ quiet for him. He looks after Rosie, but whenever he’s not, he locks himself up in that study for hours. I don’t know what he does in there.”

“Do you hear him play? Maybe he’s composing,” she suggested. 

“Maybe. I do hear the violin sometimes, but-…” She broke off. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this, Molly. Not even after….well, you know. I hope….I hope maybe you can do something.” 

“I’ll do what I can, Mrs. Hudson.”

And she did. As soon as Toby was settled and sleeping on her bed, and she’d unpacked her essentials, she went to his study. She let out a deep breath before she knocked. 

Not a single sound comes from the other side of the door, but that didn’t keep her from pushing it open anyway. 

He’d pulled the curtains across the windows, and so she could barely see anything in the twilight. But once her eyes adjusted she found him sitting in the corner of the room, wearing one of his dressing gowns, hunched over in his chair. She quietly walked over to him and sat on the chair across from him. Yet she didn’t say anything. Instead, she gently took one of his hands in hers. He didn’t even seem to notice she was there, and the only sound was the faint click of the clock ticking the moments away - first five, then ten, fifteen, then twenty. 

It was half-past before his hand tightened on hers and his gaze settled on her. “Molly.” He voice sounded hoarse and creaky, like he hadn’t said a word in hours. Maybe he hadn’t. 

She smiled faintly. “Yes, I’m here, Sherlock. What can I do?”

“Don’t…don’t go,” he said softly. “Please.”

She took his other hand in hers and squeezed it gently. “No, I won’t. Not as long as you need me.”

His lips twitched in the slightest hint of a smile, and they sat in a companionable silence, both knowing what the other was thinking without saying a word.

* * *

After a few weeks, Molly, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, and Rosie fell into their own routines. They took turns looking after Rosie, and Molly found that she did have quite a bit of time to herself. She spent the time reading, taking long walks on the shore, and researching for Mike. Sometimes she and Sherlock would perform experiments together and occasionally he’d even ask her to play music with him - her on the piano and him on the violin. Both Rosie and Mrs. Hudson seemed to enjoy it immensely. And so her life continued on, as change only came with the seasons.

* * *

When Rosie was five, Molly, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson discussed where to send her to school. Mrs. Hudson advocated the local state school, Molly the local private school since they could afford it (As it turned out, Sherlock - and by extension, Mycroft - had no limit of funds, so money was not a problem). But Sherlock shook his head and said that if Molly agreed to help, they would school Rosie themselves because that was the only way she’d “learn what was really important.” Molly had to take an afternoon to ponder that one, but eventually she told him that she would help. For the first time in years, she saw that spark in his eyes that had always been there when he’d been on a case and excitedly explained to her everything that he’d planned out for Rosie. They both collaborated on what materials to use, and Molly, well, she insisted that Rosie learn at least some things that were practical. But he didn’t even seem to mind. Rosie’s education had become a case to him and, in a sense, he had the work once again. 

* * *

As she grew up, Rosie became a quiet and caring girl. Smart, too, but how could Molly expect otherwise with parents like John and Mary? Rosie had a few friends in the neighborhood, but she still seemed to prefer the company of Molly and Mrs. Hudson over any of them. And she _adored_ Sherlock. Somehow it seemed like she knew just what sacrifices he’d made for her parents, even if they were gone, and any drawings or stories she made immediately went to him. In his own Sherlockian way, he loved her too, affectionately calling her “Watson” and teaching her how to play the violin. Sometimes Molly would pass by his study and hear him drilling her in the “Science of Deduction” or she’d go for one of her walks in town and see them sit on a bench together, observing people and trying to deduce them. 

Maybe her life with Ms. Hudson, Sherlock, and Rosie might sound strange to other people, but she found a sense of satisfaction and contentment in Sussex that she hadn’t found in London.

And in her own way she was happy.

* * *

 

Of course, happiness and contentment have their own ways of disappearing when you least expect it. One summer morning, when Rosie was about fourteen years old, Molly went downstairs for her usual cup of coffee, only to find both Rosie and Sherlock sitting quietly at the table together, Rosie’s usual cheerful smile nowhere to be found. 

And she knew what had happened. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

Rosie’s eyes filled with tears, but it was the man whom Mrs. Hudson considered her own son who answered. “Yes, she’s gone. Died in her sleep. About four hours ago, I’d say.” He said it unemotionally, as if he were talking about any other dead person, but she knew he had to be aching inside. Yet she hugged Rosie first, because she knew that she needed it, and let her cry in her arms. After a few moments, Rosie slipped away, muttering something about wanting to go outside, leaving her alone with Sherlock. She didn’t even know what to say to him. “Sherlock, I’m-….”

He ignored her and drummed his fingers on the table. “We of course have to think about the arrangements. She doesn’t have any family that I know of, so-…”

She reached out and grabbed his hand, not to keep him from composing his own song with his fingers on the table, but to comfort him. “We don’t have to decide any of that now, Sherlock,” she said gently. What can I do for _you_? At this moment?” 

He sighed heavily and his fingers wrapped around hers. “Don’t go, Molly,” he said. “Just…don’t go.” 

“I won’t,” she said reassuringly. “Not as long as you need me.” 

He didn’t smile, but some of the tension did leave his face. 

She couldn't fix it for him, but at least he knew she was here.

That was all she wanted. 

* * *

Only a few months after they buried Mrs. Hudson, Molly found that she once again had to part with an old friend: this time it was her cat, Toby. By now he was over a hundred in cat years, and of course she realized that he couldn’t live forever. But her heart still broke when she had to take Toby to the vet and have him put down.

Rosie came with her because she had loved Toby. She had doted on that cat and drew many pictures of him.  Unexpectedly Sherlock came with them too. While Toby had always adored him (something he and his owner had in common), Sherlock had regarded him with something close to mild indifference. So it did surprise Molly that when she and Rosie had headed out the door, he’d pulled on his Belstaff and stated firmly that he was coming with them. But the one portion of her heart that was still whole felt glad to have his support, even he was silent the whole time. 

When it was over and they were back home, Rosie fled up to her room and Molly could hear her crying upstairs. She wanted desperately to do the same, but before she could, a warm hand caught hold of her fingers. She looked up only to see Sherlock staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face. “Sherlock, I -….”

“What do you need, Molly?” he asked her softly. 

She could only blink at him in shock. Though she’d asked him that multiple times over the years, she rarely heard him ask her the same. Tears welled up in her eyes as she opened her mouth, not even knowing what she would say. “Don’t…don’t go," she stammered. "Please.” 

Much to her surprise, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “I won’t,” he said softly. His unexpected kindness touched the deepest part of her heart, and she let him comfort her the way she had comforted him many times before.

* * *

Over the next few years, Rosie prepared for her entrance to Uni. Though Molly and Sherlock were still her official teachers, by that point Rosie did most of the work on her own and excelled at it. Molly had no doubts that she’d be admitted to the best universities in England. But she still felt a painful twinge whenever she thought of Rosie’s departure. She loved Rosie as much as if she’d given birth to her herself and she’d miss her terribly. Beside that, she had no idea where her own life would take her. Technically her responsibility as Rosie’s co-caretaker would be over when Rosie turned 18. She could return to London, even to Barts if she wanted to. She could do whatever she fancied with her life. But somehow she couldn’t picture herself in London anymore - the hustle and bustle after the cherished serenity of Sussex did not appeal to her in the slightest. So she told herself that she wouldn’t decide anything until Rosie told her and Sherlock where she planned to attend Uni. She visited all different schools across England, and Sherlock bet that she would go to Cambridge, his alma mater, while Molly argued in favor of Oxford, which was hers. Where Rosie would attend Uni became a source of playful banter between the two of them. 

Yet in the end, Rosie surprised them both with her choice of the University of Sussex and her decision to continue to live at home. Sherlock tried to convince her that she really truly should go to Cambridge because it was the finest college in England and living here wasn’t necessary (Molly stayed out of the discussion this time and said nothing about how he was wrong and Oxford was the best. After all, C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien had taught there) but Rosie patiently interrupted him and said that she loved Sussex, Molly, and him far too much to ever leave and Sussex had a fine criminology program. 

_Criminology_. Not chemistry, not biology, not maths, not even art or literature as much as Rosie had loved it. But _criminology._ Molly glanced over at Sherlock, and he was blinking at Rosie in what Rosie and Molly had christened his “buffering” face. “I know that many my age would want to go find adventure in a different town,” said Rosie, directly to Sherlock. “But all I want is to stay here and become a detective. Like you.” 

Throughout all the years and all the losses they had faced, Molly couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen tears in his eyes. But she saw the faintest sheen now. He didn’t say a word, only opened his arms to her and Rosie fell into them. Molly almost cried herself at the sight of the two of them hugging. Sherlock caught her eye and gestured with his head for her to join them. And so she did, enjoying the embrace of the two people she loved most in the world.

* * *

Later that same night, Sherlock came by her room, an uncharacteristically anxious hint to his eyes, though naturally he hide it well. Molly knew him far too well to miss it though.

“Molly,” he said hesitantly. “Now that Rosie’s told us her plans, I was curious what yours were.”

“Mine?”

“Yes, yours,” he said. “Rosie’s an adult, so you have completed your duty. You are under no obligation to stay.” He tried to sound aloof, but the nervousness she saw in his face told her - practically _begged_ her - to say she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No!” he said quickly. “No, Molly. Rosie cares for you a great deal. She’d miss you if you left.”

“And you?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Would you miss me?”

He swallowed, and she knew that she’d cornered him. However, she couldn’t feel practically bad about it. He said nothing for a moment, but then he looked at her with what she could only call a tender expression on his face. “Molly, you have become my fixed point in a changing age.”

It was hardly a love sonnet, but she knew a great compliment from Sherlock Holmes when she heard one. She’d become his rock, his touchstone, when everything around him felt out of control. She’d always been there for him, she’d never let him down. She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I won’t go, Sherlock. Not yet.” 

A slow smile came to his face and he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. “Thank you, Molly,” he said. With a short squeeze to her hand, he left.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, lost in thought. “You’re welcome,” she whispered. 

* * *

Rosie’s three years at Uni seemed to pass far too quickly, and Molly tried to enjoy and savor the time she had left. While Rosie might think she’d still live here, Molly and Sherlock had no doubts that she might find another job in a different city. With her grades and talent, she would never have any trouble at all finding employment. As it happened, they were right. Once word reached Scotland Yard that Rosie Watson, Sherlock Holmes’ ward and protege, wished to be a detective they almost immediately offered her a position. 

Rosie waffled back and forth on it to Molly, wondering what she should do. She didn’t ask Sherlock because she knew he’d tell her to take it without any hesitation. Molly listened patiently, and told Rosie every time that she would support her no what what she decided. 

In the end, Rosie did take the job at Scotland Yard. When she told Sherlock, Molly couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him smile that broadly. He talked excitedly to her and Rosie for the weeks until she left about how much fun she’d have and told her that she could always call anytime she needed a tip. 

His enthusiasm seemed limitless, but it was only when Molly and Sherlock were on the train back to Sussex from helping Rosie move into her new flat that she saw his smile slip.  “Are you okay?” she asked.

He stared at the seat in front of them. “I’ll miss her, Molly.” 

“I will too. But she’s not far, Sherlock. She’ll come back for holidays and we’ll have a lovely time together.” 

 “We?” he said, with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you-….” He trailed off as he saw the look on her face. His whole countenance brightened as he realized the full implication of her words. “You’ll never….you’ll never go, will you?”

“No, Sherlock,” she said, knowing with all her heart that it was true. “I’ll never go.” 

His lips turned up in a small smile, and he reached for her hand and squeezed it. Hand in hand, they both stared out the train window as it brought them closer and closer toward Sussex.

Toward home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> -Dorothy Sayers, another mystery writer, postulated that Sherlock Holmes attended university at Cambridge. I, since she is awesome, have used the same theory in this little story.
> 
> -Sherlock Holmes did say that John Watson was a "fixed point in a changing age," in His Last Bow, but I felt like it was applicable to Molly as well. 
> 
> -There really is a University of Sussex and they do have a Criminology program. I was a history major, so I always do my research :)


End file.
